Interview with Doom Marine
by lyuboiv
Summary: Many years have passed since the events of Doom, and Earth has recovered. Throughout all this time, the mysterious Doom Marine had remained silent, but today he shall speak - giving his first real interview before a young journalist. Join us, as the greatest hero of humanity remembers the past and reflects on the future... (This story is written in honor of DooM's 20th birthday!)


This story is specifically written in honor of the upcoming 20th anniversary of DooM – December 10, 2013. I have been a dedicated Doomer for 19 years – started playing in 1994 and could never quite stop. Growing up in a dull post-communist country, for me this game was the most mind-blowing thing I had ever seen. At times it felt so real that I treated it like a living being. More importantly, it was a great cure for boredom and depression – even the most unpleasant days became a pale memory after beating a few levels from my favorite game.

The story takes place 30 years after Hell on Earth. That's Doom's 20 years + 10 extra years from me (otherwise, one of the main characters would have become way too young for the purposes of the story).

So, happy birthday, my friend. And thank you for all the fun we've had together :)

* * *

**Interview with Doom Marine**

_by Lyubomir O. Ivanov_

* * *

Standing in front of the old building, the reporter was still quite puzzled. _This is where he lives? A man of his reputation could have asked for a golden palace and had it by the end of the week, and yet he preferred this shabby apartment. Man, these old buildings are creepy - there are probably secret trapdoors everywhere!_

Lost in his thoughts, the young man climbed to the fifth floor _(They don't even have an elevator!)_ and stood in front of an unmarked door. This was it!

He knocked.

The door slowly opened and he found himself face to face with a man - muscular, grizzled hair, numerous deeply etched wrinkles on his face, and yet with a strong penetrating gaze. He eyed the young man up and the faint shadow of a smile crept onto his face.

"They sent me a young one, eh? I suppose the only place you've ever seen a demon is in the museum..." A moment of awkward silence. "Come on in, what are you waiting for? I won't bite you."

The old man retreated into the dark depths of his apartment and beckoned the reporter to follow him. The door quietly fell shut behind his back and he needed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He walked down the narrow corridor until he saw a flicker of light to the right. As he approached the living room, he noticed a small closet to the side - its door was left slightly ajar and he could see the dull shine of an object resting on a shelf.

Curiosity took over and he pushed the door a little further - the object turned out to be a Space Marine helmet - a very old model, probably from thirty years ago. It was covered with eerie scratches, scorch marks and several small cracks. Hanging from a hook beneath the shelf was an old green Space Marine uniform, the likes of which he had only seen in movies. Like the helmet, it appeared worn out - torn in places, burned in a few spots, and covered with filth that looked much like blood stains.

"Are you coming or not?" the older man's harsh voice boomed behind his back.

The young man was startled for a moment, yet quickly regained his composure and made his way to the living room - it was lit by a ray of light, which came through a narrow opening between the heavy curtains. The older man was already sitting on a faded old couch next to a wooden table. There was only one chair in the room. The reporter dragged it closer to the table and sat down.

"Well then," he began hesitantly, "I couldn't really introduce myself, so maybe I should..."

"It's okay, names don't really mean much these days," the old man interrupted, "Most people don't even know mine, even though I am supposedly the most popular person alive. So go ahead - do your thing."

The reporter pulled out a small voice recorder, put it on the table _(Thickest layer of dust I've ever seen!)_ and turned it on.

"I am sitting in an ordinary living room, about to experience the moment we have all been waiting for - the Marine is about to speak," he began. He always thought there should be an introduction of some sort. "He is none other than the Marine who fought and prevailed against the demons that invaded our world thirty years ago..."

"Just a second," the marine interrupted again, "How old are you?"

"How old... I..." the question was quite unexpected, "I'm sorry... I am twenty-five, sir."

"Born after Hell on Earth, as I suspected. So you've never seen the coming of the demons, you've never been hunted by the former humans, and you've never lived in the cramped quarters of the evacuation ships?" the Marine asked.

"This is true, sir, but I have experienced the invasion in my own way. I grew up among the ruins of my home town. Several of my friends disappeared mysteriously until it was found out that there were demons lurking in the sewers. Rations were sparse, so some days I had to stay hungry so that my little brother could have something to eat." the reporter replied quietly.

"I see," the Marine said softly, "Look, don't think that I am trying to judge you. I'm just a cranky old man, don't be surprised if I lash out at you from time to time. Besides, I haven't really talked to people for a long time..."

"Why haven't you? Everyone thinks you are a hero," the reporter asked, sensing that this was a good way to finally get the interview going in the right direction.

"That's the thing - all this attention, adoration, even worship that I get," the Marine said, "I can't stand it! A pat on the back - sure. A handshake with the president - nice. A medal - every soldier likes getting one. But crowds of admirers and tears of happiness freak me out. I appreciate the people's gratitude but it suffocates me. That's why I always did my best to keep a low profile. I completed the mission, beat the bad guys and came back home in one piece - this is the best reward I could ever wish for. Many marines were not so lucky..."

The oldеr man remained silent for a while, his eyes fixed upon the window.

"Okay then, let's go back to the very beginning," the reporter broke the silence, sensing an opportunity, "The Space Marine Corps and the accident you were involved in."

"Hah, _accident_ - is that what they are calling it now?" the Marine laughed, "It was no accident, my friend, I did what I did willingly and I don't regret it in the slightest. If I could go back, I would do it again."

He paused for a second, recalling the details from thirty years ago.

"You surely remember... no, wait, you don't, you weren't born yet... The situation was a mess all over the world - the global economic collapse had led to food riots in big cities everywhere and the SMC were dispatched to keep the peace as no one else really wanted to handle this. The tension was high and there were outbreaks of violence. Many people were hurt, yet luckily, no one was killed. My squad was dispatched to one particularly volatile area - rioters frequently attacked the marines, but I can't really blame them... We were hard pressed from several directions, and then the commander just lost it and ordered us to open fire into the crowd. With live ammo."

The Marine paused once again, staring at the window, as if the whole scene was happening there all over again.

"Marines are trained to follow orders and obey their superiors," he continued, "It becomes our second nature. It's the only life we know. The good soldier follows orders - there is no other way. But in that particular moment... I could not. Something snapped inside me. The pent-up anger, the disgust, the disillusionment - it all exploded in that instant and the CO got to taste it. All of it."

"And then they just decided to send you to Mars?" the reporter asked.

"It was their best option at the time," the Marine replied, "The SMC's public image was already pretty bad due to the riots. Some of the media were openly calling us "butchers" and "child killers", and this particular incident could easily get blown out of proportion. So, they dealt with it as quietly as they could - gave me a one-way ticket to Mars and erased all records. Officially, this incident never happened."

The Marine stood up abruptly and disappeared into the dark corridor. About a minute later he returned with two glasses and a bottle without a label, filled with a colorless liquid.

"We used to distill this stuff on Mars," he explained, "I can't guarantee it's safe to drink, but I know we will both feel more comfortable after a few sips... besides, you won't really miss a couple hundred dead brain cells, will you?"

* * *

The reporter did feel a little more relaxed, indeed. The drink was pretty harsh on the tongue and burned like battery acid at first, but now it filled with with a pleasant sense of warmth. More importantly, he now had the courage to ask one of his most important questions.

"Were you afraid?" he said.

"Of course I was," the Marine said with a crooked smile, "Wouldn't be human if I wasn't afraid... Being afraid is natural, even for a hardened space marine. Hell, even the demons started showing signs of fear towards the end. I could see it in their eyes as I came closer and closer to their ugly master..."

_sip_

"The biggest of our fears is the fear of the unknown, and back then we had absolutely no idea what we were up against. First there was this weird garbled distress call from Phobos... I think they still have it somewhere in the archives, perhaps you can get to it if you are persistent enough... anyway, it was quite confusing and eerie, especially to the younger troops. I'm not sure if I could have the guts to hear it again... Then Deimos disappeared, you know - one moment it was there, then there was this strange light and ZAP - it was gone. Everyone at the base was scared to death, we thought we were next."

_sip_

"And then they loaded us into the dropship - no briefing, no intel. No idea what was going on and what kind of enemy we would face. They said it was something "evil" - a pretty unusual term for a scientist to use, so we imagined all kinds of things. Worst of all, the other marines did not quite trust me (must have heard about the reason I was sent to Mars), so they gave me the minimum possible armament for a space marine - a pistol with a measly fifty bullets. And, of course, they left me to guard the ship - how predictable. This is the best way to tell someone you don't trust them. Solitary guard duty."

_sip_

"I don't know how much I waited - it must have been the longest half hour in my entire life. Then the radio came to life - gun shots, screams, strange growls, and above all this was the commander's voice yelling "Situation negative!" above the din of the explosions. Then it just went silent - the most deafening silence you can imagine..."

The reporter leaned slightly forward, "So you went in?"

The Marine was about to take another sip, but then stopped and put the cup away. His face seemed somewhat darker now.

"I went in. Just a pistol and fifty bullets... all alone. Knee-deep in the dead, trapped on the shores of Hell, and on my way towards Inferno," he said quietly. "I fought things that no living man had ever seen before. I found the torn remains of the other marines. I could _sense_ the evil in the air. Phobos base was okay, despite the dark corridors and sludge-filled tunnels. Deimos was where things started to turn nasty - the bastards had begun changing the place. Metal, plastic and concrete were slowly giving way to flesh, bone and brimstone. I could swear the buildings were slowly changing before my eyes. And then there was that thing at the far end of the base - a fortress that seemingly appeared out of thin air when I approached it. And the tower... I saw only foundations at first, but it kept rising - the higher it went, the stronger the evil influence became. And when it was complete, I was drawn towards it, even though my instincts screamed of mortal danger."

He paused for a second.

"But what lied beneath - that was where I truly got to know what fear tastes like. You've probably heard and read many descriptions of what Hell is supposed to be like. All those cute ancient scriptures and tales don't even come close to how bad it looks, how bad it smells, and how bad it feels. It's like all of your worst nightmares have crawled out of your twisted little brain and decided to build themselves a theme park. And they populated it with the kind of bogeymen that laugh and dance as they rip your heart out..."

"How did you find your way back to Earth?" the reporter asked.

"Well, now that's the dirtiest trick they ever played on me, isn't it?" the Marine replied grimly, "I had fought all the way to a large palace on top of a cliff, and there I defeated one of those huge spider things... have you seen one?"

"Yes, of course," the reporter said, "There is some preserved footage of these beasts, besides there is a reconstruction at the museum in my home town - just the metallic components with the legs."

"Indeed," the Marine murmured, "So, I blasted the freak into oblivion with my lovely BFG 9K (a hundred times better than those newer models I've seen), and then a gateway opened - no warning, no fanfare. It was like a door leading straight to a pristine green pasture on Earth. I thought maybe this is it - I won, Hell realized I cannot be beaten and finally decided to play fair. The thought was so sweet... but then I walked through, I looked around and I knew what was going on. The invasion had already begun, and Hell wanted me to witness it. It simply wanted to gloat."

"You say it as if Hell itself is alive and conscious," the reporter remarked.

"In a way, it is," the Marine whispered, "Throughout my stay there, I constantly felt like I was being watched. Something evil and unseen was always behind the corner, watching and following me. It was something more than the demons I slaughtered - it was insidious and cunning. And worst of all - I think it endured, even after the lord of Hell was finally destroyed. It's still out there somewhere, watching, waiting, plotting..."

"So what did you do then?" the reporter asked.

"Well, I believed... I hoped that this was just a small invasion of the area around the gateway. I really wanted it to be that simple. As I explored the surrounding areas, I slaughtered hordes of demons and I saw that they were changing the environment just as they had done on Deimos. Even worse - the process was quite advanced. Then I defeated another of those spider things (I had thought there was only one of them) and then I realized the full extent of the invasion. I managed to connect to one of the military channels and they confirmed it - an invasion on a global scale, evacuation ships are trapped, time is running out... I was close to losing hope, but I still was a space marine and I had a job to do. Two options - do it, or die trying."

His eyes drifted towards the window again.

"Frankly, I felt drained after I managed to remove the barrier and allow humanity to escape. I had ensured the species' survival, more or less, so I could just sit down and wait for them to come and claim me... but then I got the message that my own home town was likely the source of the invasion. This really helped reinvigorate me - I had not been home for many years, plus I still had some unspent ammo. Besides, I just love urban warfare..."

"And then," the reporter continued, "Having barely returned from Hell once, you went there once again?"

"Indeed I did," the Marine confirmed, "There was no really no way to deal with the situation from our side of the gateway... so I just shrugged and plunged into the abyss. It wasn't as scary as it was before - I already knew what to expect, although good ol' Hell still had a few surprises up its sleeves. Nothing I couldn't deal with... in the most brutal manner imaginable. That last big guy I faced got me worried for a while, but then I figured out how to deal with him - it was a lovely explosion!"

"I bet it really was," the reporter added, "From the point of view of the refugees in the spaceships, though, the demons' sudden withdrawal must have seemed quite strange."

"Well, I was pretty amazed myself," the Marine shrugged, "I was already getting used to the thought that I'd have to kill a lot more before they would even consider giving up, but blowing up that big guy seemed to do the trick. That's why I am so convinced he was their leader or the next closest thing. Most of the demons retreated, but some remained..."

"It was recently revealed that you were heavily involved with the mop-up and CnC operations after the invasion. Some even say the whole idea started from you," the reporter suggested.

"This is true," the Marine confirmed, "As soon as I could get in touch with high command, I told them that the fight was far from over. Demons have a knack for lurking and ambushing unsuspecting victims - I was sure some would stay behind and continue to plague humanity as we tried to reclaim our planet. Thus I insisted that mopping squads be formed immediately and deployed throughout major urban centers. We worked as fast as we could, yet the demons managed to get quite a few victims. You mentioned that you had lost several friends yourself when you were a little kid."

The reporter nodded in silence.

"Yes, that's what I am talking about," the Marine continued, "We could have saved all these lives... we SHOULD have saved all these lives, but our organisation was lacking - we had lost most of our regular-duty marines, so we had to prematurely push many rookies into active service. The lack of experience and morale was quite obvious and slowed us down at every turn. The check-and-cleanup (CnC) teams were a little more successful. They were deployed after most of the cities had been repopulated, and they responded to specific reports of demon sightings. They went, investigated and "sanitized" the area - quickly and efficiently. We had learned from our mistakes and we were not going to give the bastards any more chances."

"_To defeat a demon, you have to become a demon_ - these are your own words, spoken ten years ago during the 20th Hell on Earth Anniversary commemoration. Can you elaborate?" the reporter said slowly.

"I said it, and I meant it. The war against the demons was unlike anything we had ever faced before. There was no place for emotion, pity or regret - only the grim determination to exterminate them before they exterminate us. Think about the former humans - they were people like you and me once, they had lives, families, homes, plans for the future and so on... but once the change took over them, they were the enemy. The only thing we could do about them was to destroy them with extreme prejudice. Yeah, the scientists made several attempts to find a way to reverse the process, but ultimately it was the good ol' hot lead that solved the problem. Did that make us less human? Perhaps... but it ensured our survival. This is what matters to me."

"You have also said, quite often, that we have not seen the last of the demons," the reporter continued.

"This is the truth," the Marine said with a grim expression on his face, "Our previous victories against them have hardly diminished Hell's strength. What I accomplished could be described as a flesh wound - it hurts, it bleeds a little and it may incapacitate you for a few minutes, but it won't really stop you. Hell has already recovered from this wound and will soon turn its full attention towards the thing it craves most - revenge. It will never stop until it achieves it - I can assure you of that. And that is why I will always remind the military to be ready for further incursions and think of better ways to defend Earth."

"This brings us to my next question," the reporter instantly grasped the opportunity, "Your involvement with the ill-fated Plutonia Experiment."

The Marine frowned.

"The Plutonia project was a decent idea but, as usual, the execution was lacking. And this cost us dearly... The preliminary results looked very promising - the quantum accelerators had the potential to shut down dimensional gates, but we all knew that dabbling in gateway technology would inevitably draw _their_ attention. I told them it should be an underground facility with an option for immediate self-destruct if something went wrong. I told them there has to be an entire legion of marines there to ensure a larger invasion force would not get through. They didn't listen. They never listen. And so we had another mass slaughter on our hands, and yet another demonic attempt to subjugate the planet. I barely managed to stop them in time, even with the combat experience I had accumulated thus far... they seemed to be prepared. They were expecting me."

The Marine's eyes glanced towards the window once again. "Luckily, the project managed to survive somehow... the original technology was revised and improvement, leading to the development of a global anti-gateway network, just as it had been intended from the very start. Maybe this is our insurance against future invasions. Maybe it's not. Only time will tell."

Then suddenly, the Marine suddenly slapped his forehead.

"How could I forget?!" he exclaimed, "I still keep some of my old stuff. You saw the uniform and the helmet but there is a lot more... you can take photos with that thing, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he left the room and disappeared somewhere. The reporter could do nothing but wait patiently.

* * *

The Marine returned after ten minutes dragging a weathered cardboard box into the room.

"There... now I can show you some real stuff. Old war stories are fun, but nothing beats a good souvenir!"

He rummaged through the box and finally pulled something out. Brass knuckles - old and worn out, and seemingly covered with blood stains.

"These little buddies were a gift I got during my first day in the SMC - a small prize for beating the drill sergeant at arm wrestling. Ooooh, he played a lot of dirty tricks on me later to repay me for humiliating him, but it was totally worth it. These puppies accompanied me to Phobos as well - the only thing I had beside that pistol. And speaking of which..."

The Marine was now pulling out an old SMC-issue pistol. It was pretty worn out as well, yet the reporter stared at it with admiration. This was the first weapon used in the Marine's battle against the forces of Hell. A true relic!

"And look at this - an old stimpack," the Marine was now holding a small white container with a red cross on it, "Yeah, they used to have red crosses on them before they introduced that weird pill symbol. Anyway, they worked like magic against minor wounds and exhaustion. I wonder why they stopped producing them... Oh, look at this - a few shotgun shells. I bet they still have some *bang* left in them. This is probably the only type of ammunition that hasn't changed over the years. I am sure they will work perfectly in contemporary shotguns."

There were many other curious items in the box, including an empty flask made of a strange blue crystal - an authentic demonic health potion. The reporter had seen several of these in a museum - all empty, though he knew several full ones were recovered as well. The substance within them was kept for further study. The Marine himself mentioned that he had drunk quite a few of these. "They have a slight refreshing effect," he had said.

The next object was a deformed piece of molten metal. The reporter could not quite figure out what it was.

"This is a very special souvenir - a piece from the metal leg of the first Cyberdemon I defeated. We fought on the top of a strange tower that the demons built on Deimos. Meeting this guy was a very bad surprise, but once I had overcome the initial shock, I brought him down easily."

For a few seconds the Marine stared at the young journalist's head, as if he was trying to measure it.

"You know what," he said in the end, "Do you want to try out the helmet?"

"Helmet?" the reporter was quite surprised by the sudden suggestion.

"Yes, my old Space Marine helmet - the one I wore throughout the entire thing. Do you want to try it out?"

"Oh... well... I wouldn't presume..." the reporter mumbled in confusion.

"No need for false modesty, kid," the Marine smiled, "Here, let me get it..."

He disappeared through the door and came back just a moment later, carrying the old helmet. In the lit room, its decrepit condition was even more apparent, and yet it still seemed strong and combat-worthy. The older man's strong hands carefully placed it on the reporter's head. He felt a little claustrophobic within its dark confines at first, but then the Marine touched a concealed switch and the HUD came to life. Letters and numbers, dim at first but glowing stronger with every passing second, started to appear.

"Fascinating!" the reporter exclaimed, "It still works after all these years. The indicators are activating... no weapons or ammo detected, no available keycards, 0% armor... and only 75% health? Why is that?"

"Hah, don't be surprised," the Marine said knowingly, "These devices have been tuned for adrenaline-pumping space marines, not skinny reporters. Perhaps if you spend some more time at the gym you can raise it to 90% or above. With proper SMC training, you'll surely get 100% too. And some demonic artifacts can even get you higher than that - it feels awesome!"

The Marine quietly inserted a fresh clip of bullets into the old pistol and put it into the reporter's hand. The HUD reacted almost instantly - the "2" indicator on the "arms" status panel lit up (_This probably corresponds to sidearms, while the numbers up to 7 are for the more powerful guns._) and the ammo counter turned to 50.

"This is pretty much what I saw when it all started back on Phobos," the Marine explained, "Luckily, I was able to find more serious firepower and get the job done. Hell, I even found a chainsaw - quite unexpected, but surprisingly efficient against mindless demons. And this helmet was with me all the way - that is why I insisted on keeping it. I love this helmet!"

* * *

About an hour later, the reporter felt it was time to wrap things up. So he released his final question, the one he was most curious to hear about:

"What are your expectations for the future?"

The Marine leaned back and remained silent for a minute. Then he spoke: "I'm not sure if I really belong in the future. Your future. I fought my battle and I won. Now it's up to you to fight your battles. I did my best over the last twenty or so years - I trained squads of elite marines, specially prepared to fight against demonic incursions. I advised the world governments as they completed the anti-gateway network around the globe. Most of all, I exterminated every last demonic straggler that I could find in the most remote corners of the world."

He paused for a second.

"My battle was concluded in the past. I know it will be remembered and re-experienced by the new generations. But if the demons return, I have the nagging feeling that they will, you will have to deal with them in your own way. Sure, I can give the bastards a last stand they will never forget, but ultimately the fate of the world lies in your hands. The young marines are good - yes, they don't respect my old combat ways, they are way too drunk with advanced technology and hi-res 3D simulations with bumpmapping, realistic shadows, physics and all the other hi-tech stuff I don't pretend to understand, but I made sure they would learn the _oldschool_ way as well. I am sure they will find it useful sooner or later... and it will save their lives."

The reporter used the moment to shoot his next question: "You said this earlier and now you say it again - you believe Hell would return some day?"

"Yes, I am pretty certain of this," the Marine frowned, "Despite its losses, Hell suffered only a minor setback. It was strong thirty years ago, and it is even stronger today, having recovered much of its losses. They will never give up - they have already tasted Earth once and they crave to have it again. This is what drives their existence. The difference is that they will no longer have surprise on their side. We are ready for them now. We can kick their butts back into the abyss that spawned them. Perhaps that will teach 'em a lesson, but don't count too much on it."

"What will you say in closing?" the reporter said.

"Live without fear - even the greatest evil can be defeated with persistence. This is your world - enjoy it. You can call me a hero or a saviour of the world, but in the end of the day I am just a grumpy old man who wants to live quietly and stay out of trouble. The most action I see these days is when I go to the local bar, _Club Doom_, and share old war stories with other SMC veterans over a glass of vodka. After all, I am only human... and that is what I'll always be."

The reporter stood up, put the small recorder back in his pocket and shook the old Marine's hand.

"Thank you, sir. This was all quite amazing and I am sure it will be all over the media within the next few hours. It was a great honor to meet you and hear all these things."

"You are welcome, kid," the Marine's smile was broader than ever, "I am pretty sure this interview will give your career a handsome boost. I hope to see you host your own TV show some time soon."

The young man blushed but the gloom in the corridor concealed it. The two man said their goodbyes, then the reporter rushed towards the office as fast as he could. He had the feeling the small recorder was burning his hands.

The Marine stood by the window and stared at the green fields outside. It was hard to believe all those year had passed - he remembered everything with great clarity, as if it had happened yesterday. And he regretted nothing of it. If he ever had the chance to go back and choose to have a normal life instead of fighting demonic hordes in Hell, he would not take it. It was an adventure such as no other human could ever experience.

And it was epic!

**THE END**

* * *

_Funny thing - I imagined the whole thing as a short movie, with Clint Eastwood playing the role of the Marine. Now that would be something I'd love to see!_

_Anyway, happy 20th anniversary, and keep the DooM spirit alive!_

_L. Ivanov - November 23, 2013_


End file.
